


GAME OF LOVE

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-14
Updated: 2000-02-14
Packaged: 2018-11-10 06:36:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Thtcher's in the mood for a game of love, but will Fraser show his hand?





	GAME OF LOVE

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

 

gameoflove

**Author's disclaimer:** Although the story is mine,  
it is  
a work of fiction based on the characters  
of Due South. All Characters portrayed here belong to Alliance. Please  
do not print/copy/download or send any part of this story to anyone else  
other than for your personal enjoyment. Thank you.

Thatcher's up for playing the game of love but will Fraser even pass Go and collect his 200 dollars? Rated **PG-13** for mature content. 

visit my web page 

By: Amethyst   
    
    


**THE GAME OF LOVE**

  


         "Fraser!"   
        The Mountie turned from where he had been about to leave a message for Turnbull at the front desk, startled as his superior officer threw open the consulate door and stepped inside.   
 She looked breathtaking in an off the shoulder red evening gown, her purse in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other and her coat draped over her shoulders. She smiled and kicked the door shut and practically skipped toward him in a way that he had seen only once before, the night Denny Scarpa had stayed there and Thatcher had been going for a taste of Italian.   
        "Fraser, Fraser, Fraser." She reached him, her arm grasping his shoulder, perhaps in a friendly gesture, perhaps to keep her upright, Fraser wasn't sure. Her eyes were slightly glazed and she was entirely too cheerful. Oh Dear.   
         "Sir?" he questioned and her lips puckered in a distasteful frown, then she glanced around.   
         "Where?" she asked suddenly, searching for what Fraser had no clue. Then she turned back to him, her palm never leaving his shoulder, if anything it seemed to grip him tighter, as she smiled secretly. "Oh! You mean me? I'm Sir."   
         "Yes, Sir." He agreed, wishing more than anything that her date would come for her, as the Italian had did.   
         "Fraser, Fraser, Fraser." She shook her head and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to bring him closer as though about to tell him a secret. She smiled, as his body remained rigidly upright, his hands placed stoically in front of him. "Com'ere I have something to tell you." He leaned forward slightly, despite his restraining posture. "Closer." She urged and he lowered his head so his ear was almost touching her mouth. Her tongue darted out and licked his earlobe and he shot straight up again, his hand moving to his ear in surprise as she giggled.   
         "Sir..." he questioned.   
         "Lighten' up, Fraser!" she laughed, letting her arm drop back to her side. She smiled secretly, then tried to look more serious. "Honestly Fraser, I do have something to tell you." She promised and watched Fraser gaze at her warily.   
        Part of him wished he were still in his uniform, perhaps it would help him feel more protected, but he had changed to go to a hockey game with Ray earlier in the evening. Thatcher coerced him forward.   
        "Come down here and I will tell you." He wanted to tell her his ears were more then keen enough to hear what she had to say form his present position, but manners and a sense of duty won out and he bowed his head to her once again. She leaned in so her lips were brushing the sensitive skin of his ear. "Mushymushymushy." She purred in his ear then giggled as he lifted his head and shook it at her, forcing himself not to allow the smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth to form.   
         "Fraser." She sighed shaking her head, then stumbling slightly against him and he was compelled to grasp her forearms to keep her stationary. "Fraser, look at me." Fraser complied, staring into her eyes, those beautiful warm eyes that had always contradicted her cold attitude at times. "Lower." He moved his eyes to her nose, curious, perhaps she wanted him to find something specific on her face. He glanced over her cheeks as well, finding nothing but the classic beauty that she was. "Lower Constable." His eyes moved to her lips, so perfect for kissing...no! Don't think about that. This is not the time for fantasies, obviously his superior officer had something in mind and it was his duty to solve the puzzle.   
         "Sir what..."   
         "Lower Fraser." She almost growled as she swayed slightly and he grasped her arms more securely. "Look lower." Fraser's eyes moved downward then shot up again as he blushed. She stared at him. "Now what did you see?"   
        "S...see, Sir?" he stammered nervously, unable to perform any of his usually calming techniques for his hands were occupied with Thatcher.   
         "Look again." She demanded and Fraser hesitantly complied with her wishes, dropping his eyes to the two soft, pale mounds of flesh that seemed to be straining to be released from the tight confining bodice of her dress. "What do you see, Fraser?"   
        He swallowed and continued to stare since she had not given him leave to look up again. What did he see? What kind of question was that? Oh where was her Italian, or Frenchman or whoever she had been dining with tonight?   
         "I...I...I don't understand w...what you are asking, Sir." He managed.   
         "Breasts, Fraser." She stated exasperated, as the subject in question rose and fell erotically with her sharp, quick intake of breath, and he found his eyes rising back to her face of their own accord. "I have breasts Fraser." She continued meeting his gaze, despite the flush that now spread across his face. "Granted they are perhaps not the best breasts, you have no doubt seen much better..."   
         "Oh no, Sir!" Fraser quickly assured. "They're quite lovely!" He groaned, appalled at what he had just said to his superior, and he lowered his eyes. Well, there you are, a perfect case for sexual harassment, although she had been the one to bring it up, but still it was rude to comment...Oh Dear...what had he done? When he looked up again, hesitantly, Thatcher was smiling at him, her head tilted ever so slightly.   
         "Why thank you, Fraser." She murmured softly and he blushed redder, thought relieved she had not taken offence. "Anyway, as I was saying. I have breasts and therefore what does that make me, Fraser." He cracked his neck. How in the world had they gotten on this subject anyway?   
         "Ah...a...a...female?" he questioned hesitantly and she nodded.   
         "That's right, a female of the species." She confirmed, running her hand along his biceps gently. "A woman, a feminine persona, a chick, a babe, a broad...whatever you wish to call it I am a woman Fraser and women are not called Sir!" Ah, Fraser thought. That's what this was leading up to, though he was still somewhat confused, he was simply giving her the proper respect due her position.   
         "Yes, Sir." He returned automatically the winced at her glare.   
         "You did it again!" she exclaimed angrily, throwing her hands out, her purse sliding through the air to land a few feet away on the floor while Fraser released her momentarily to keep the wine from suffering the same fate. He carefully placed the bottle on the desk and turned back to Thatcher, his eyes moving again toward the door. Thatcher smacked at his arm, drawing his attention back to her. "I'm alone, Fraser...well not completely you're here, but there is no one outside waiting for me so you are not going to get out of this."   
         "Sir, I don't..." Fraser was so confused his head was starting to spin. Thatcher seemed to be trying to calm herself.   
        "I don't mind you calling me that in public or even when I'm giving you orders for the day, but for heaven's sake must you do it even when we are both off duty and alone...or well alone together..." She waved her hands at him and again he caught her from falling. "Turnbull...even that idiot calls me Ma'am from time to time, let's me know that he is aware of my gender, not that I care if he knows, but you never do, Fraser."   
         "Si..." he started to stay and her eyes narrowed threateningly. "Ah...Margret. I...I think perhaps I should take you home you seem to be..." She shook him off of her.   
         "I am not drunk, Fraser." She stated. "I have had a little to drink, I may even be slightly tipsy but I am not drunk and I am fully aware of what I am saying."   
         "Yes si...ma'am." Fraser amended quickly, wondering how long she was going to be tipsy and not drunk in his presence. She smiled suddenly and grabbed up the bottle of wine in one hand and Fraser's hand in the other, meaning to lead him back to the kitchen but Fraser didn't budge, even as she continued to tug at his hand.   
         "Walk Fraser." She demanded and he closed his eyes briefly then complied, following her back into her the compact kitchen with trepidation. How did he get himself into these situations? She released his hand and the urge to turn and run must have been written on his face for she pointed a finger at him. "Stay." He sighed inaudibly and straightened his stance; his hands behind his back as Thatcher pulled two wineglasses from the cupboard, then walked over and handed them to Fraser. She turned again. "Follow." She ordered and he walked with her to her office, where she switched on her desk lamp and kicked off her shoes.   
        She took the glasses from him and set them on her desk, trading them for the wine, while she worked the cellophane off a gift basket that had been delivered to her that day. Fraser opened the wine, as was expected of him, and jumped back startled when the cork flew off and the wine began to spill over; he was usually much better at such things but his nervousness was starting to show. Thatcher exclaimed and tried to catch some of the gushing liquid with the glasses and her mouth, her lips and tongue skimming Fraser's fingers as he tried to control the amount of wine spilled. He almost dropped the bottle, when she had touched him, but he managed to keep it upright, as he had her earlier, he thought wryly.   
        "I'm afraid we have made a mess." Fraser stated obviously as he set the now calm bottle on the desk and wiped at the moist spots on his blue flannel shirt. Thatcher shrugged as she began pulling out packets of crackers, cheese, caviar and the like from the basket and setting them on her desk next to the wine glasses.   
        "The carpets are to be cleaned tomorrow anyway." She commented, glancing at him, as he continued to wipe at the mess on his shirt with a tissue from her desk. She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it to a chair. "Take off your shirt, Fraser, before it soaks through." He stared at her surprised.   
        "It is fine, Si...ma.." He paused not knowing what to call her, what would get him in the least amount of trouble. She grinned and reached up to start unfastening the buttons of his shirt.   
        "Meg is fine, Fraser." She returned, guessing his dilemma as his hands moved finally to still hers.   
        "I...I'll go change." He offered, that way he could at least have an excuse to escape the current situation, although part of him feared what was and might happen, another part of him was intensely curious. Of course he would never take advantage of Thatcher in her present condition, but still, he was a man and he couldn't deny that he had not sometimes wished...   
        "Don't be silly, Fraser." She protested, finishing the buttons, despite his hands and moving to pull the wet shirt from his shoulders. He was glad he always wore hid regulation white T-shirt, so he was not as exposed had he not been wearing one. She tossed his shirt atop her coat and allowed her hands to explore his bared biceps, feeling the muscles jump beneath her feather light touch.   
        "Si...Meg?" he questioned, his voice cracking slightly. Her hands stayed upon him as she walked around to face him.   
        "Yes?" she inquired softly and watched Fraser swallow, crack his neck and pull on his ear nervously.   
        "Um...Are you...ah...w...what...?" He brought a hand up to caress his brow, causing the muscles under her palm to stretch and contract, offering her another glimpse of his hidden strength.   
        "What is it, Fraser?" she asked leaning toward him, but Fraser couldn't speak, he had no idea how to voice his thoughts "I am your superior officer, correct Fraser?"   
        "Y...yes." he agreed quietly.   
        "So if I gave you an order would you comply?"   
        "Yes." He said more confidently and without reservation.   
        "And if I ordered you to kiss me, would you do it?' she asked and Fraser stared at her shocked. Oh yes, there was that look, that charming deer-in- the-headlights look that she loved about him, as she watched the flush rise to his cheeks.   
        "I...if...if...if you ordered me...Sir...?" It slipped out because he was nervous so she forgave him. "I...I don't understand..."   
        They had kissed once before, on the train, and he would remember it always, but she told him it was to be forgotten, never repeated unless the exact circumstances were repeated. They were not on a train, but on solid ground, though Fraser was starting to get the light headed giddy feeling similar to what he had experienced atop the locomotive with the air rushing past them.   
        "Wouldn't you like to kiss me Constable?" she demanded, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes now.   
        "I...I..."   
        "Yes or no, Fraser it is a simple question."   
        "I...I...ah...I don't...I would..."   
        "Just answer the damn question Fraser!" she exclaimed angrily.   
        "S...Sir, you...you said..." He stared at her helplessly, oh how did he get into these things? Perhaps Ray was right and trouble really was attracted to him like a magnet, for there was no greater danger that a furious Margaret Thatcher, that much he knew. "The..the..incident ...we...we are not permited to speak of...you...you said..."   
        "Forget what I said, " she scoffed. "Answer the question. Yes or no?"   
        Fraser cracked his neck again and shuffled on his feet.  Before he could stammer a reply she took his head between her hands and pressed her lips to his. He stood rigidly against her,  making no movement to put his arms around her or respond to her kiss, he merely became passive. He wasn't preventing the kiss, but neither was he encouraging it, and finally she pulled away and stared up at him, her eyes heavy with guilt and something...something Fraser couldn't define. She stepped back and reached for her wine.   
        "I guess I have my answer. You are dismissed Constable."   
        "Meg I..." Fraser started to say, but she turned her back to him and moved to stare out the window.   
        How could he explain to her that it wasn't that he didn't want her, he just refused to take advantage of the situation. Whether she admitted it or not she was intoxicated and he could not use her to his own purposes.   
        "I thought you might like to share a midnight snack with me, Fraser." She murmured, still staring out the window. "I guess you don't. You may go, I will call a cab to take me home." Fraser stepped toward her, he didn't want her to misunderstand, but how could he explain without getting her angry, or hurting her more.   
        "Meg..." he began quietly, praying the right words would come to him. "If...if only..." He shook his head, knowing that bringing up the fact that she had been drinking would only make things worse. "P...perhaps you will remember all this in the morning, as you say." Dear God I know I will, I shall remember it for many mornings to come. "I do not mean to insinuate anything about your current physical state, I just..." Again the words stopped and he groaned inwardly. He tried again, speaking from his heart, which was the most difficult thing for him to do, he'd much rather be shot at, stabbed or blown up.  "I...I would hope that you would...would ask me your question at another time...in the morning perhaps. Then I would know it is really you asking and not the alcohol." Thatcher turned to face him.   
        "Fraser, I have had, two...maybe three drinks all evening," she held up her glass. "Not counting this one, and I have been here for awhile now, don't you think had I been drunk I would be sober now?"   
        "It takes twenty four to forty eight hours for alcohol to be purged from your system.." he began and she waved him silent.   
        "But no one feels the effects for that long Fraser." She protested. "A few hours at the most is what is normal, if you drank you would know that." She put her glass on the desk and stepped up to him, her face inches from his. "I am not intoxicated. I may have been a little tipsy when I first arrived but no longer. Ask me anything, I'll recite the RCMP order codes I'll... Sing Oh Canada...relate the..." Her words were cut off as Fraser's lips met hers in a slow, hesitant kiss. He did not touch her, merely kissed her and she leaned toward him, just as he broke their connection and stepped back.   
        "You have your answer then." He murmured as she stared at him shocked.   
        A slow smile spread across her lips as she shyly moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers again. Once more he gave her complete control over the kiss, allowing her to do what she wished, responding to the motions, but not attempting to deepen it in anyway, and again his hands remained at his sides. She tilted her head back and looked at him.   
        "Are you afraid of me, Benton?' she asked coyly and was surprised when he nodded.   
        "Very mush so, yes." He admitted and she smiled seductively.   
        "Do you want me?" She watched Fraser lower his eyes for a moment, then return to her face.   
        "Very much so." He repeated quietly and she giggled then surprised him by stepping back.   
        "Let's eat, then." She decided, as a look of confusion passed over Fraser's face. "First we eat then we'll...talk." She smiled. "Just so you are sure I am not drunk."   
        Fraser nodded and watched her retrieve a small throw from the sofa and place it on the floor, then put their goodies and the wine in the center. She settled next to it and held her hand up for Fraser to join her. He curled his legs into a sitting position and sat opposite her.   
        "I would prefer..." he began when she handed him a glass of wine.   
        "Just one glass," she assured. "It makes the food taste better." She smiled impishly. "Besides, if we're both drunk we won't care about who takes advantage." She giggled again as   
        Fraser blushed to his roots and shook his head at her teasing. He liked her this way, oddly enough, so playful. He nodded and took a sip of the drink then placed it on the floor beside him as Thatcher lathered a cracker with Caviar. She took a small bite, then held it up to him, watching him mimic her actions hesitantly.   
        She continued to feed him the different delicacies, smiling at his shyness but approving that his mouth automatically opened upon her prompting. That would be useful later, she thought mischievously.  Fraser wasn't certain if it was the wine, the food, the late hour or the company that seemed to be making his head tingle and his usually rigid posture slowly seep away to a more relaxed state, though he suspected it was all of it together.   
        Thatcher was being decidedly silly, cracking jokes and relating funny stories about some of the delegates and dignitaries she had met while here in Chicago, and she had Fraser laughing out loud at some of the antics. He had stretched out on his side, propped up on his elbow, his head supported by his hand and Thatcher had mimicked the position, her long skirt modestly covering her bare shapely legs.   
        "This is nice." She suddenly sighed and Fraser nodded.   
        "Yes, it is." He agreed softly, watching the light in her eyes that drew him to her like a moth to a flame; but he had to ignore that flame or he would get burned; he knew that.   
        "You're different, Fraser." She remarked.   
        "Am I?" he asked puzzled and she nodded, moving onto her stomach and resting her chin on her hands like an mischievous little girl.   
        "You haven't called me Sir in over an hour now." She teased and laughed delighted when he blushed again. Her face grew serious. "Do you think we're friends Ben?" Her question obviously caught him by surprise and he regarded her thoughtfully.   
        "I...I would like to think so, yes." He finally replied subdued.   
        "Like you and Ray?" she pressed, trying not to allow the jealousy she felt over the relationship he had with the Chicago cop show in her voice.   
        "Ray and I are....we are a different ...it is different with him." He managed finally. "He is my partner, we have shared many things both in our work and during our off hours. I would do almost anything for him as I know he would for me." He lowered his eyes again, uncomfortable with discussing such things. "You...you are my superior officer and I...I would do anything for you also."   
        "Because you are my subordinate or because you consider me a friend?" she questioned quietly.   
        "Yes." He replied and she had to smile at his innocent diversion of answering the question more directly.   
        "Would you beat up Turnbull?' she tested and he started, then slowly smiled.   
        "If you told me to I would...possibly, yes." He knew she wasn't being serious so he was free to make an off-handed answer.   
        "Would you do my laundry?"   
        "Yes." That response was quick and easy and she smiled again, of course he already fetched her dry cleaning so why not her laundry.   
        "Would you rescue me from a burning building?"   
        "Of course."   
        "Would you defend me when that partner of yours pokes fun at my expense?" She asked, of course she already knew the answer, for she had seen him scold Ray on many occasions for his remarks, which only proved to encourage the detective it seemed. Still Fraser answered her.   
        "Yes." He replied, finding he was enjoying the game she chose to play.   
        "Would you go shopping with me?" She was surprised when he said yes to that one, as most men shied away from shopping, but then Fraser was not most men. "Would you cook for me?" she continued, working up slowly to the question she really wanted to ask.   
        "Yes." Fraser replied with a small smile. "Although my cooking skills are probably not up to your standards." She shrugged, unconcerned. She slowly slid up to her knees and crawled across their small picnic toward him, stopping just inches away and sliding back on her stomach before him.   
        "Would you make love to me?" There was that look! That wonderful what-in-the-hell-do-I-do-now expression and she struggled to keep a straight face as she gazed into those startled, ocean blue eyes.   
        "I...I...Would I....if you...." He pulled at his shirt collar, tugged on his ear, caressed his brow, cleared his throat and cracked his neck all within a few seconds and Thatcher struggled with barely contained laughter...Oh Boy! Was he nervous now!   
        "Yes, or no, Fraser?" she demanded amused, as his eyes fluttered backward for a moment, and she wondered if he might pass out.   
        Had she gone too far? Was he truly this embarrassed and naive? Women threw themselves at him constantly, she couldn't believe...But wait, and his face was so red it was almost purple and she could almost feel the heat he was generating from her placed next to him own placed next to him. She didn't mean to do that to him, to embarrass him so badly. She reached sat up and reached a hand out to gentle touch his shoulder, watching him jump and scramble into a sitting position of his own, then roll to his feet.   
        "I..I think..." he still couldn't get a full sentence out and Thatcher felt terrible for affecting him so, as she rose to her feet beside him.   
        "I'm sorry, Ben." She offered soothingly. "I never meant...please forget what I said, it was just a game. I..." Whatever she said seemed to have the wrong affect on him and she watched him stiffen and turn slightly from her, as that familiar cool, passive stone expression slipped into place. No, Don't do that, Ben. She wanted to cry, don't use that mask with her. She stepped toward him. "I'm sorry, I didn't..."   
        "It is late." He remarked quietly, calmly, without emotion. "Would you like me to drive you home or shall I call a cab?" She stepped back as though he had slapped her.   
        "Fraser don't..." she began but their moment was over, she had hurt him and she was sorry.   
        "I...do not feel like playing anymore, Inspector." He commented and she gasped at his deliberate words, he thought she was a tease, that she deliberately meant to embarrass him, and the awful truth was that she had done just that, enjoying his ineptness, but she never meant to go so far.   
        "I...I have my car, Fraser." She replied firmly, best to just revert to the role she knew best. "I can make it home just fine."   
        "Perhaps a cab, then?" He suggested, still in that awful dead tone. "You have been drinking, even if it is mostly out of your system it would be safer." Thatcher cringed, even as angry as he no doubt was, as much as she had hurt and humiliated him, he was still concerned for her safety. Ever the boy scout. She grabbed up her coat and angrily threw her arms into it.   
        "I'll be fine, Constable. She declared marching out of the office. "Leave everything and I will clean it up in the morning." She picked up her purse, from the floor in the foyer and moved to the door, allowing Fraser to open it for her. She walked down the steps toward her car without a backward glance, but she knew the Mountie watched her until she reached her car safely, before closing the door. She tossed her purse inside and climbed behind the engine, savagely twisting the key and revving the engine, then slammed her hands on the wheel furiously.   
        What was she thinking, going there to see him tonight? She had left the dinner and simply felt to good to go home, so she went to the Consulate, hoping Fraser would be there, wanting to share her good spirits with him. He had thought she was drunk, but she wasn't, she barely had a buzz, but perhaps she pretended to be more than a little tipsy, because it would get her closer to him.  She remembered how he fought a smile when she whispered that silly thing in his ear, noticed how he allowed her to trail her hands over him anyway she liked, without interference, saw the amusement in his eyes when he constantly tied to keep her upright. She hadn't been about to fall at any time, she just liked him holding her, was that wrong? She groaned and leaned her head back against the seat. How could she have teased him like that? How could a night that was turning out to be letter perfect end up being so awful? Damn! Damn! Damn! She sighed and threw the car in drive, the peeled out into the street.   
        Fraser allowed the curtain to drop the moment the black Cadillac roared off down the street. He didn't know why Margaret had been sitting there for so long, but he had been about too go out to check that she was alright, when she finally moved the car into the street. He sighed and leaned against the window, wondering where had things gone wrong. At first he was both frightened and  somewhat amused by Thatcher's late night visit, but then the things she said and did...well they simply were not appropriate to discuss.   
        He grinned slightly, she had literally told him to look at her breasts, as though he actually needed to be assured that she was a woman. He groaned, oh, he knew she was a woman alright, for that same woman with those flashing eyes, kissable lips, round hips, subtle breasts and stylish hair haunted his dreams time and time again, rarely leaving his thoughts for long even when he was awake.   
        Would he make love to her if she ordered him too, that was what she had asked. He shook his head. No. They had been talking of the things he would do for her as a friend and making love...well sometimes friends did indeed partake in that particular activity, but how could he have answered Thatcher's question. Yes, he wanted to make love to her, though he thought he hid his feelings well enough from her. Had she discovered his secret longing? Was that why her question knocked the breath out of him?   
        Then, when he searched for the words, the right words to tell her how he felt, after the shock wore off of course, she started apologizing, calling it a game, and laughing it off. That was a bigger blow then her question had been, to realize that she was simply teasing him, gagging his reactions, playing with his feelings. That had hurt, hurt terribly, that she would play him for a fool that way. Fraser's first reaction had been to strike her and that had appalled and frightened him, but she had managed to relax him so completely, he had let his guard down. He had left himself wide open for her assault that he wasn't prepared for the rage that came with the shock of her words.   
        Quickly, he managed to regain control of himself, of course, using every calming and composure seeking technique he knew, forcing himself to repair the damage that had been done by her game. He never should have stayed, he should have left immediately or offered to call a cab for her the moment she arrived, but he couldn't help wishing...wanting to spend the time with her. Hoping...he didn't know what he had been hoping for and manners pretty much ruled out any other reason for simply walking away.   Sighing, he pushed off from the wall and headed for his office, though he doubted he would get any sleep tonight, tomorrow came early.   
  

        Fraser glanced up from his conversation with Turnbull, as Inspector Thatcher walked into the Consulate, dressed in a simple, but tasteful pastel green slack suit. Turnbull immediately excused himself from Fraser's company and took his superior's jacket, wishing her a good morning and inquiring if she would like some tea, as Fraser also greeted her. She glanced at him briefly, there were dark shadows under her eyes and he frowned, as she declined the tea and headed for her office, her heels clicking defiantly along the hardwood of the floor. Turnbull returned to Fraser and they continued their conversation, as their newest addition arrived. Fraser instructed the Mountie to sentry duty, though suspected he would be replacing him once he reported to Thatcher, since that was her usual punishment when he was, as Ray would say 'in the dog house' with her.   
        He made a few more comments to Turnbull, then left the taller Mountie to answer the calls that had started to come in and moved down toward Thatcher's office. He was wearing his brown uniform today, for he was going to meet Ray later for lunch and then trail some suspects through the wooded more rural areas, and his browns were a little more flexible and blended in more than his red serge. He rapped quietly on Thatcher's door and waited to be called inside.   
        "Come in." her voice responded and he opened the door and stepped inside.   
        Despite her insistence that he not pick up the things from their impromptu picnic, Fraser had already cleared everything away and most of the things returned to the kitchen or the basket on her desk. He stopped a few feet from her desk, lacing his hands behind him as he waited for her to acknowledge him.   
        "So, speak." She demanded coolly, her attention remaining on her computer screen, he noticed she did not attempt to remove or hide the fact that she wore glasses, as she usually did in his presence, they were propped defiantly on the bridge of her nose as she peered at he screen. Fraser cleared his throat.   
        "The cleaners for the carpet will be here at 9:00 this morning." He informed reviewin g his report quickly in his head as he said it so he would leave nothing out. "Turnbull and I have arranged the extra office next to the waiting area for your convience, so you may work while the carpets in here are being cleaned." He cracked his neck slightly. "Your two thirty appointment with, the minister of finance, canceled for today and reschedualled for tomorrow morning at eleven. All your other appointments are running on schedual, Turnbul has your phone messages when you are ready to view them and I have arranged to have the limoseen cleaned inside and out and waxed for your appearance at the Children of AIDS fundraiser this evening." She nodded and he waited a moment, until she finally glanced at him.   
        "Was there anything else, Constabul?" she asked impatiently and Fraser shifted his weight.   
        "Would you have any dry cleaning you would like me to pick up, Sir?" he inquired, hoping he wasn't blushing as he said it. "I will be leaving early today but I can pick it up for you if need be." She stared at him for a long moment.   
        "Do you and your detective friend have plans for the evening, Fraser?" She saw that her question caught him by surprise and she secretly smiled.   
        "No, sir." He returned. "Nothing specific." She nodded again and turned back to her screen.   
        "Good, I have four tickets to that fundraiser tonight, have your friend find a date and come along." Fraser gaped at her openly.   
        "Sir?" he questioned in disbelief. She was actually asking Ray to come along, and him? She was mad at him, why would she....he would never understand women, never.   
        "Is that a problem, Fraser?" she asked deliberately.   
        "No sir." He assured quickly. "I..I will ask Ray..ah...detective Vecchio if he would care to attend." She nodded and returned to her screen again.   
        "Excellent." She replied. Turnbul can drive us, pick me up at seven at my appartment." Her eyes moved to his again. "It is black tie, Fraser, make sure your friend is aware of that."   
        "Yes sir." Fraser retured, wondering if Ray even owned a tux.   
        "That will be all, Fraser." She seemed to sigh, intent on her work. "Please ask Turnbull to bring me some coffee. You're dismissed." Fraser bowed slightly as was his custom.   
        "Yes sir. Thank you S..Sir." He left the office, quickly informed Turnbull of their comander's request and went to his office to call Ray.   
  

        "How long I gotta wear dis monkey suit, anyway, Fraser?" Ray Kowalski complained as both men stepped out of the GTO and headed for the Consulate. Fraser still wore his uniform, they had returned so he could change.   
        "I believe the program is about two hours, Ray." The Mountie informed as they stepped over into canada and closed the door. Turnbull greeted them cheerfully.   
        "Good evening, Sir." He said to Fraser with a warm smile. "Good evening, Detective Vecchio, welcome to Canada, my aren't you looking smart this evening. I must say black is very fetching on you, yes it does you justice." Ray glanced at Fraser who was looking decidely amused as he returned the other Canadian's greeting.   
        "Ah...thanks, Turnbull." He finally muttered, pulling at the collar of his shirt, both pleased and embaressed by the Mountie's eager compliments.   
        Fraser smiled and went to change as Ray glanced at his reflection in the darkened windows. It wasn't too bad, he supposed, the tux he rented had been fitted at the shop, so it hung perfectly in just the right places, but the stifness in his shirt and the tie around his throat was making him clostrophobic. His hair was tamer than usual, though still stood a few inches up from the rest of his head and he wore his shades, simply for affect, a little piece of  rebelion mixed in with all this culture he was supposed to be showing. He turned back to Turnbull, who was smiling at him again, and was still dressed in his red serge.   
         "I like your hair, Ray." He remarked kindly. "I wish I could get mine to do that." Ray was taken back by the comment, but he grinned anyway, Turnbull's hair was like Fraser's short military typre cut, but stylishly full on top,  probably to much hair for spikes, Ray decided, but he offered anyway.   
        "I can teach ya how ta do it sometime." He promised hald heartedly and watched the other man brighten expectantly.   
        "Oh would you?" he declared clapping his hands together joyfully. "That would be wonderful, I am afraid I don't have very much of a sense of style, not like you do."   
        If had been anyone else, Ray would swear the Mountie was flirting with him, but Turnbull was always this cheerful and accomadating,  he smirked, except when it came to curling anyway. He had no idea if the man was straight, gay, bi or just from another planet, he was in a class all his own, just like Fraser.   
        "So yer on drivin' duty tonight, hey?" Ray commented, for lack of anything else to say, wishing Fraser would hurry up. The sooner they got there the sooner he could get home and out of this stupid looking penquin outfit.   
        "Oh, I am happy to do so." Turnbull assured as Fraser reapeared looking damned well fantastic in his tux, at least Ray though so. Turnbul must have seconded his oppinion for a moment later he turned to his superior and said. "How absolutely debonair and smashing you look, Sir. You do carry that off well." Fraser nodded and offered him a small smile.   
        "Thank you Turnbull." Then to Ray. "Are you ready to go, then?"   
        "Hell yah, let's get outta here." The detective insisted moving toward the door, only to have turnbul almost fall over himself trying to reach it first. He smiled and pulled it open, allowing Ray and Fraser to proceed him out, then did the same routine getting to the Limo parked down from Ray's GTO. The detective shot him an odd look as the Mountie funmbled for the latch and pulled the back door open.   
        "Here you go, Sir." He offered still smiling Ray wondered if it was plastered there, on his face.   
        "We're big boys, here, Turnbul." He insisted. "We can get our own doors." Turnbul looked agast .   
        "Oh no, Sir!" he exclaimed tragically. "That wouldn't be proper at all, not when I am the driver. Please hop in." Ray shook his head and climbed in, Fraser following.   
        "Thank you, Turnbull." Fraser added automatically, making the Mountie smile again.   
        "You are very welcome ,Sir." The Mountie replied closing the door and going around to the driver's side. He got in and started the engine, smiling at them through the partion. "I am sure you will both have a wonderful and exciting evening. Please buckle up for safetly." Fraser complied, Ray ignored him and he frowned. "Please detective, I simply cannot leave until you a safely secured."   
        "Ray, put your belt on, he means it." Fraser suggested amused and Ray pulled the belt across his lap, grumbling.   
        "Dere ma, ya happy?" he shot sarcastically and shook his head as Turnbul flashed him that smile again and turned his attention to the road, knowing he had to pick up Inspector Thatcher and Elaine at their apartments.   
  

        At the fund raiser,  Ray spent most of his time dancing with Elaine, who had been sweet enough to accomany him when he asked her earlier, and the rest of the time chatting with Fraser. Thatcher and Fraser danced a few dances, but for the most part the Inspector seemed to work the crowd and left Fraser to his own devices. The dinner had been delicious, though Thatcher had been decidedly quiet during it, and now she was playing her part to the hilt. Elaine asked Fraser for a dance as Ray smuggled out a plate to Turnbull, who was sitting in the car outside. The Mountie was delighted at Ray's thoughfullness and Ray grinned as he leaned against the Limo and watched Turnbull set the plate carefully on the seat, waiting until he was alone to eat perhaps.   
        "Are you enjoying yourself, Sir?" he asked politely and  Ray shrugged, taking a few deep breaths in the cooling night air.   
        "Ain't bad." He admitted. "Rather go fer a couple of bears and a pizza tell da truth." Turnbull smiled appropriately. "You ever get to go to deese shin digs Turnbull?" The Mountie looked shocked.   
        "Oh no, Sir!" he assured quickly. "I...I'm rather clumsey at social functions, why Inspector Thatcher would be horriably embaressed if I..." He shook his head decidedly. "Constabul Fraser is so much better at these things, he knows just the right way to behave and the proper things to say and..."   
        "Fraser ain't God, Turnbull." Ray commented dryly, though understood the Mountie's hero worship of his partner, he had a small case of it himself. "Ya'd probobably be fine at dis thing."   
        "Thank you kindly, Detective." Turnbull returned gratefully. "But I'm rather akward with people, I actually prefer not to attend." Ray chuckled.   
        "I hear ya." He patted the man's arm and turned to head back inside. "Eat yer dinner before it gets cold."   
        "Thank you for bringing it to, me Sir." Turnbull returned politely and Ray glanced back.   
        "Call me, Ray, Turnbull-we're buddies, right?" It must have been the correct thing to say because the tall Mountie beamed at him pleased.   
        "I would be honored to call you, Ray. Thank you." He replied and Ray nodded and returned inside.   
  

        Ray and Elaine left shortly after, because both had the early shift, and got a cab back to the Consulate where they picked up Ray's car. Later when Turnbull parked outside Thatcher's appartment, the Inspector requested Fraser accompany heer up and told Turnbull to head back, that she'd send Fraser home in a cab. The Mountie agreed easily, not willing to question his superior and drove off as Fraser held the door open to Thatcher's building. They rode the elevator in silence as it climbed to Meg's floor and Fraser tried not to wonder why the Inspector had asked him to come with her.   
        "Care for a cup of coffee, Fraser?" she asked as they entered her appartment and she tossed her purse and wrap into a near bye chair as she kicked her heels off her aching feet.   
        "No thank you." He refused politely, halting just inside the door in his usually rigid stance. Meg glanced back at him and shrugged as she made her way into the kitchen.   
        "You may as well make yourslef comfortable, Fraser." She stated as she plugged in her perculator. "I need to talk to you and you may be here for awhile." Fraser tried not to show his anxiety as he closed the front door but didn't move any further into the room.   
        "Perhaps we can discuss whatever you have to say tomorrow?" he suggested. "It is very late and..."   
        "We'll discuss it now, Fraser." She insisted as she returned to the livingroom and settled onto her sofa as she waited for the coffee to brew. She indicated the spot next to her. "Have a seat Fraser." Fraser hesitated then settled in the matching chair opposite and Thatcher bit her lip to keep from smiling at his blatant attempt to keep a distance between them.   
        "What is it you wish to discuss then, Ma'am?" he questioned resolutely, she noticed his careful substitution of address   
        "Last night." Thatcher replied and watched Fraser's eye brows rise.   
        "I don't..." he began but she held up a hand to silence him.   
        "Hush, Fraser." She ordered and watched the Mountie close his mouth immediately. "I want to appologize for the way I behaved."   
        "There is no need I..." he began politely but she glared at him warmingly and he shut up again.   
        "Fraser, I would like to blame my behavior on the alcohol I consumed, but I simply don't think that would be the fair thing to do. I did have a few drinks, but I was not as...intoxicated as you think I was. I was feeling quite good after the party I had attended and didn't want to go back t my lonely old appartment, so I decided to pay you a visit." She bit her lip and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I... I perhaps got carried away, but I just wanted you to be in good spirits, to...share my good mood. I..I never meant to embaress you as I did or make you uncomfortable, I simply..." she hesitated and took a deep breath, then met his gaze again. "Well I didn't mean to ruin the mood by...by asking you that...that question." She watched Fraser's cheeks darken as he lowered his eyes from hers this time. "I never meant to...I don't want you to think I was being a tease, Fraser, I really wasn't. I only...well, I guess I was trying to find away to get you out of your shell and I pushed you too far. I appologize deeply for my actions." Fraser said nothing for a long time, just sat with his fingers intertwined in his lap. Finally he raised his eyes to hers again.   
        "I didn't think you were...being a tease, Meg." He assured quietly. "I..I just...you shocked me with your question, I hadn't expected it." He caressed his brow nervously. "Then when you laughed it off I..I thought....I thought it was part of the game and I..I wasn't prepared."   
        "I never meant to hurt you, Ben." She whispered softly, as she patted the cushion beside her. "Come sit beside me, please?" Fraser rose and settled next to her, his eyes trained on the hands once again in his lap. She reached over and folded her own hands around them. "I want you to know that I think you are the greatest person I know, Fraser." He glanced at her in surprise. "You are loyal to your duty and the people you care about and you care about a great many people. I..I wanted to be one of those people that deserved your....I wanted you to care about me that way and I ruined it by playing games. I am sorry."   
        "I...Meg, I..." Fraser sighed, wishing he was more eloquent in speaking from his heart. "I do care about you, very much. I...I just...."   
        "I'm confusing you." She supplied quietly and he nodded.   
        "Well, quite frankly, yes." He admitted shyly and she chuckled. "You...you say you want me to...but you said we could never...and I had to forget...but I can't forget and I..." His words were smothered by the feel of her mouth on his and he once again stiffened, unprepared for her affection. She pulled back quickly and placed a hand to his warm cheek.   
        "Forget what I said, Fraser." She allowed and his brow creased in puzzlement.   
        "Ah...forget what I am supposed to forget or forget forgetting what you told me to forget?" he questioned bewildered and she shook her head. Now she was confused. She thought for a moment then smiled at him.   
        "Forget everything except this." She said leaning into him once more and claiming his mouth. Fraser again allowed her control over him, until she whispered in his ear. "Make love to me Ben, if you want to, not because I ask, and I'll never tell you to forget again."   
        Fraser groaned, her words were his undooing and he wrapped his arms around her and pressed their lips together once more. Finally he had what he most desired and he swollowed the doubts that automatically rose, his accompanied fear that it wouldn't last.  This would be different, with Meg it would be special and he would do everything in his power to keep her.   
  

The end?   
    
    
    
    
  


End file.
